Grave Cargo: Arcane Transporter 1

by Jami Gray

  “He’s not.” Evan’s attention stayed on his screens as he talked and typed. “At the insistence of his patient, the good doctor requested the Guild’s assistance.”

  That still didn’t make sense. “Why?”

  “Because…” Evan’s answer was distracted. “It appears his patient is trying to hide his identity behind a doctor-patient confidentiality screen.”

  “Can you do that?”

  “If you have enough money, you can do anything.”

  “Can you—”

  “Already did.” Grim satisfaction broke through the harsh lines of Evan’s face. “Keith Thatcher.” On the far screen, a face popped up. Based upon the well-tailored suit and the glittery background, the photo was obviously taken at some upscale event.

  I studied the image of a man in his early sixties. He sported a short conservative cut that blended grays and browns into an attractive mix above arrogant brown eyes. His face bore the lines of maturity expected of someone his age, and he had an arm around an equally mature woman. They were the epitome of a well-to-do couple, but there was something about him that I couldn’t place. “Why does he look familiar?”

  “Do you pay any attention to the gossip rags?”

  “Do you knit?” I gave Evan an arch look, already knowing his answer.

  A brief flash of humor lightened Evan’s eyes. “At one time, Keith Thatcher was a financial manager for LanTech Industries.”

  The connection clicked, but not for the reason Evan assumed. LanTech’s spectacular implosion months earlier was proof of what happened when someone crossed a major Arcane Family. “LanTech closed their doors—what? Four months ago?”

  Evan nodded. “Yep, they lost the majority of their military contracts, which financially crippled them. Or that was the story.”

  There was much more to it than that, but since keeping my mouth shut had worked for the last six months, I wasn’t inclined to share the details, especially since one of those details was my unintentional part in a failed kidnapping attempt.

  Unaware of my thoughts, Evan kept sharing. “Just before Keith lost his job, he also lost his wife of thirty-plus years. The divorce was well underway before the LanTech mess, but it came to a head about the same time.” An image of a couple came onscreen. “Meet Madeline Thatcher and Keith’s replacement, Theo Mahon.”

  Madeline’s name struck a chord. One of the bigger mover and shakers in the valley, she’d held that position uncontested for decades. She was striking. Her hair was a stunning shade of silver no dye could ever match, and it added depth to her timeless beauty. But it was the lean, fit man standing next to her that had me asking, “There’s what? Twenty years between them?”

  “Try twenty-eight.” Evan’s voice was dry.

  That put Theo in his early thirties. I grimaced. “I’m guessing the tabloids had a field day with their relationship?”

  “Considering Madeline’s one and only son is three years older than her boy toy, you’d be guessing right.” Evan leaned back and folded his arms over his chest as he stared at the screen. “But that wasn’t the only reason they were all over the news.”

  I studied Theo’s image. It was hard to miss the salon masterpiece of casual sun-streaked brown hair complemented by a close-cropped beard covering an angled chin and a grin filled with startlingly white teeth. It didn’t take much to guess what other rumors were floating around about the May-December couple. “Let me guess—someone cheated, hence the nasty divorce?”

  “Both someones,” Evan confirmed. “But infidelity wasn’t their only vice. Allegations of embezzlement were thrown around, but nothing ever came of it. The divorce was messy, but by the time the final papers were signed, Theo was a standard fixture at Madeline’s side, and the ex had a hell of an alimony bill and no job. The son does his best to ignore them all.”

  Things like that made me grateful to be an orphan. “Can’t say I blame him.”

  “It gets better.” Evan hit a key and brought up a news article. “Last week, Madeline and Theo announced their engagement.”

  “Sounds more like a story line in a soap opera.”

  “Which is exactly what the paparazzi bank on when they print shit like this.” Evan went back to playing with the keyboard, shutting down windows and opening others. “Who knows what the real story is there? What is important is why Keith doesn’t want his name attached to a Guild job.”

  Oh, I can think of a few reasons. “Maybe he’s tired of making headlines.”

  “Maybe.” Evan kept shifting through various windows and files.

  Instead of pursuing that rabbit hole, I focused on the more important one. “Dr. Martin submitted the case to the Guild, and he’s a what? A urologist? They deal with kidneys and bladders and such, right?” I tried to make the pieces fit. The screen filled with what read suspiciously like a patient’s medical file—Keith’s, to be exact. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “I have no idea what you think it is,” Evan countered with studied nonchalance. “But this”—he pointed at a section—“is probably why the Guild—and by extension, Lena—was called in.”

  I read the mix of jargon and numbers, trying to make sense of it. “Looks like the doctor ran a bunch of tests on Keith. Most of which came back negative. Except this one. What does ‘MC-GK required’ mean?”

  “If this MC is the same as the one used in police lab reports, I’d say magical contagion,” Evan confirmed.

  Which means… “GK? Guild Key required?” If one plus one equaled two, then… “Keith was cursed.”

  “Sure looks like it.” Evan grimaced. “If I was to guess, I’d bet his most important anatomy part was targeted.”

  I winced. Okay, that was… gross. I turned back to the first screen with Lena’s case file. “Where’s her after-action report?” If Lena marked the case closed on the board, her final report should be on file.

  “There isn’t one.” Evan started closing down windows, leaving Lena’s case files up. “I’m guessing she was planning on filing it before she went MIA. Her last login to the case file was yesterday at 9:23 a.m. She’s got a note here.”

  I leaned in, my hand tightening on the back of Evan’s chair. “She’s got a wrap-up appointment with Keith today at two.” I checked the clock in the corner of his screen and noted the time: 12:18 p.m. My mind churned through options. “Any chance she’s got a draft of the report saved somewhere?”

  “Hang on. Let me see if I can check a few things.” His fingers flew over the keyboard. “What are you thinking?”

  “Lena changed the case’s status on the board to closed, which tells me the case was all but finished. Yet there’s no final report, and she has a meeting with the client. Maybe she hadn’t filed the final report because she had a couple of loose ends to tie up first. If I can—”

  “Yes!” Evan’s exclamation cut me off. “Got something.” A half-finished after-action report filled the screen.

  I stifled my urge to echo his excitement. “Can you print that out for me?”

  In answer, a printer in the corner powered up and began spitting out pages. “What’s your plan, Rory?”

  I collected the pages from the printer. “I’m going to keep Lena’s appointment with Mr. Thatcher.” I turned, papers in hand, and met Evan’s gaze. “Do we have an address for him?”

  He turned to his computer. “It’s on his medical records.”

  I set the papers down and pulled out my phone, waiting for the address.

  A few keystrokes later, he said, “It’s 3598 East De La Vista West in Scottsdale.” He pushed his chair back and stood.

  I typed Keith’s address into my phone. “Looks like I’m going to Scottsdale.” I picked up Lena’s report and turned to the door, only to pull up short when Evan blocked my way. “What?”

  Arms braced against the doorjamb, he stared down at me, his expression steely. “I’m coming with you.”

  “No, you’re not.” It came out sharp.

  He aimed a hard-eyed glare
at me. “Excuse me?”

  Instead of quailing under that dark look, I lifted my chin. “I need you here.”

  “Why? You and I both know the chance of Lena waltzing in is less than zero.”

  “I know.” And that worried the hell out of me. Every instinct I had screamed my best friend was in serious trouble. “Which is why I need you to stay here. Look through her other cases. Find out if there are any other leads. If this doesn’t pan out, I’m going to need a next step.”

  His gaze reflected the same mix of worry and frustration roiling in me, but his carried something more, something he was trying hard to downplay. He didn’t back down. “You don’t even know if she’ll show up at his place.”

  Chances were damn high she wouldn’t, but I was still going. “And?”

  “Dammit.” He dropped his arms and looked away, a muscle in his jaw flexing as he glared at something only he could see. “How are you going to play this?”

  “I’ll tell him Lena was unavoidably detained. After that, I’ll play it by ear.” It was the best I could do, considering I was flying blind. “In the meantime, you can update Sylvia.”

  He blew out a harsh breath and stepped aside. “Poking around on your own isn’t smart. Especially considering the names involved.”

  I gave him an arch look. “Neither is hacking into confidential records, but that didn’t stop you, did it?” When all he did was glare, I added, “I’m not exactly going solo here, since you’ll be tracking my ass, right?”

  He didn’t deny it, but exasperation swept over his face as he shook his head. “Just be careful of whose toes you’re stepping on, Rory, and keep your damn phone on you.”

  “Will do.”

  I hustled out of his office, determined to keep stomping on said toes until someone tripped and I found out where the hell Lena was.

  Chapter Five

  I left Evan’s office and headed straight to my locker, where I kept a spare set of clothes and a backup weapon. There was no way someone like Keith Thatcher would take me seriously if I showed up in jeans and a faded concert T-shirt. As for the weapon, well, it was better to be safe than sorry. In the empty locker room, I changed into dress pants and a blouse before tucking the 9mm Glock G43X in the concealed waist holster. Hopefully Keith wouldn’t notice the not-so-professional black slip-ons that didn’t quite match the rest of my attire. After a quick touch-up on my hair and a few swipes of makeup, I was as good as I was going to get.

  I took a few precious minutes to read through Lena’s after-action report. Curse breaking wasn’t my forte, but I knew the basics. The convoluted magic could range from pesky to deadly, one-time usage to unending, and simple to complex. Reversing that kind of spell required untangling a complex web of power and intentions. That was why Keys, or curse breakers, were highly specialized. For Lena to be assigned meant the curse was target specific, and considering the players, that was not a surprise. The Thatchers definitely qualified as soap opera material.

  Lena’s notes were professional and impartial, but we’d been friends long enough for me to read between the lines, and the story was a doozy. Keith Thatcher had gone to Dr. Martin when he began having issues in the bedroom—performance issues, to be exact. After exhausting all available medical tests, Dr. Martin had advised opening an investigation with the Guild for possible magical causes. Once Lena was assigned, it didn’t take her long to confirm that Keith had, indeed, been cursed. Determining who had set the curse and why had turned out to be the bigger challenge, especially as Keith was apparently keen on keeping the embarrassing details quiet. Her investigation began with the typical culprits: the victim, his ex-wife, and her brand-new fiancé.

  First up was the man himself, Keith. He claimed the curse had to be Madeline’s doing. He painted a picture of his ex as being vindictive and jealous, despite her apparent happiness with her new boyfriend and the fact that their divorce had been final for months. A divorce Madeline instigated. In fact, he was certain Madeline was punishing him for sleeping with her best friend, Vivian Ellis.

  When Lena interviewed Madeline, she, of course, denied any involvement with the curse. When Lena mentioned Keith’s affair with Vivian, Madeline all but waved it off as unimportant. Not only had it occurred well after the divorce, but Vivian had mentioned it as a joke to Madeline, who’d advised her bestie to go for it, but be sure to use protection as Keith was a man-whore. Madeline had warned Lena that if she thought the curse was set by someone Keith had slept with then dumped, Lena might be in for a challenge. Her ex was an ex because he couldn’t keep it in his pants. Lena actually quoted Madeline saying, “If I wanted to make him pay for fucking around, I’d just cut it off. I wouldn’t bother with a curse.”

  I thought I might like Madeline.

  Lena interviewed Vivian, who not only corroborated Madeline’s story, but shared that the singular experience was “far from memorable and not worth repeating.” I skimmed the other interviews, including Keith’s bed-hopping partners, his business acquaintances, and a handful of people who were considered friends. There were plenty of females and a few males who would justifiably want to ensure Keith’s penis was out of action, but Lena had heard a rumor from a couple of different people that Madeline and Keith had ended up back in bed at some point in the last few months. Vivian had mentioned that Madeline had considered it an “oops” moment, and one of Keith’s male friends commented that Keith hoped it meant Madeline would take him back.

  Lena had even uncovered a recent police report of a domestic disturbance between the divorced couple at the son’s home. Bolstered by alcohol, Keith had confronted Madeline about their one-night stand at a family dinner in front of the son, his wife and teenage children, and Theo. Things blew up, someone got slapped, words were exchanged, and the police were called. When the dust settled, Keith was taken away in cuffs, the son swore he was done with both parents, and Theo spent the night at a motel. However, the younger man’s anger didn’t last long, because days later, he and Madeline announced their engagement.

  It had taken Lena a bit to work through the tangled maze of relationships and affairs, especially since she seemed to be having trouble pinning Theo down for an interview. It looked like she’d finally managed to meet him yesterday morning, but her notes were missing. Prior to that meeting, she had narrowed her suspects to Madeline or Theo. Lena still had a couple of questions for Keith noted, but knowing how Lena’s mind worked, it wasn’t hard to tell she was leaning toward Theo as the guilty party.

  With the file in hand, I headed out. During the twenty-plus-minute drive to Keith’s address, I went over my approach. I wasn’t holding out hope that Lena would show for the scheduled appointment, but maybe I could get something from Keith that would help narrow down where she might be or what she might be doing. It was a hell of a long shot, but it was better than sitting around waiting.

  Out of habit, I checked my mirrors as I drove, but nothing struck me as out of the ordinary. Maybe it was paranoid to think I would be followed, but the longer I went without hearing anything from Lena, the more I worried. Using my phone’s GPS, I followed the directions to an upscale neighborhood. I wound my way through the neighborhood streets lined with large houses, shiny sedans and SUVs, and ruthlessly manicured yards. It was one of the newer planned communities that obviously catered to those who would call themselves “comfortable.” It wasn’t just the higher-priced rides or McMansions that gave it away, but the fact that the lots weren’t sitting on top of each other, unlike many bedroom communities, where every inch counted. Here, people didn’t have to worry that their neighbor could watch them and their neighbor’s TV at the same time.

  My GPS took me to a wide driveway that led to an oversized architectural beauty that was a cross between an Italian villa and a Spanish ranch. The mix of whitewashed adobe and burnished red tiles sat pretty and polished under the afternoon sun. It wasn’t the only bright, shiny thing in attendance. A real estate agent’s sign was propped up in the meticulously kept front
yard. Hmm, looks like Keith is moving.

  I parked my Mustang next to a sexy black Audi RS that sat in the drive instead of in the triple garage then grabbed Lena’s file. I got out, eyeing the gorgeous sedan, somewhat surprised by Keith’s automotive taste. From what little information I had on him, I would have pegged him as a Benz type. I beeped my locks then scanned for any nosy neighbors. Luckily, it was early afternoon, and the street was quiet. A classic Corvette crouched in the drive next door. The gleaming cherry-red paint was dust free, with no car cover in sight. What? Do they have someone come out and dust it every day?

  Living in the desert meant everything carried a layer of dust. Between that and the unrelenting Phoenix sun, keeping a car showroom pretty was damn near impossible. That was why I paid extra for covered parking for my Mustang.

  Movement on the street was followed by the soft sound of wheels over asphalt as one of the latest electric sedans rolled by, its heavily tinted windows hiding the occupants. I turned, watching it head out of the neighborhood, and got my mind back on point. I followed the flagstone path to a front courtyard guarded by an oversized door laced in wrought iron to go with the Spanish-ranch vibe. I moved up the three steps, and as I went to ring the bell, I noticed the thick door was open a couple of inches.

  A sense of foreboding crawled down my spine, but I tried to shake it off, knowing my morning had left me markedly off balance. I checked my watch, noting I’d made the appointment time with five minutes to spare. I stood there for a moment, logic urging me to turn around and call Evan. Instead, I tucked the file under my arm. Being careful not to touch the door, I leaned in and braced a hand on the doorjamb. I didn’t need Keith calling the police on me. “Hello? Mr. Thatcher?”

  Silence answered.

  Okay, where was the client? I tried again. “Mr. Thatcher? My name is Rory Costas. I’m with the Guild.”

  Still nothing. I studied the partially opened door as tension coiled. In response, my magic stretched awake, covering my skin in a thin layer of invisible armor. My ability wasn’t showy or intimidating, but it was a hell of a defense. Right now, not knowing what lay inside, I needed that kind of reassurance. The formal designation for what I wielded was Prism, but that knowledge was something I kept quiet, mainly because it was a rare ability often coveted and ruthlessly exploited.